At close to 50 my husband and I are at that time in our lives when the children of our friends are getting married. Often these are professional couples in their mid-twenties who plan joyful weddings that reflect individual interests and preferences. This Labor Day weekend we attended just such an occasion at the stone-encrusted Graylyn Estate in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.
Ann Ellen Ferguson, the daughter of our friends, Joe and Debbie Ferguson, married Alex Pearce. Ann and Alex now live and work in Chicago, but they came home to their undergraduate school backyard for their wedding. With the help of supportive and resourceful parents they had planned a weekend of celebration for family and close friends for September 2nd and 3rd. The celebration culminated in the wedding ceremony on the White Lawn at Graylyn on Sunday, September 3rd at 5 pm.
In the week before the wedding I’m sure their was some concern about the outdoor wedding as tropical storm Ernesto blew over central Florida, barreled up the Atlantic coast and surged inland again just south of Wrightsville Beach, NC on Thursday evening, August 31st. Ernesto dallied along in NC and VA dropping buckets of rain. Somehow these storms seem to clear the air and the weekend in it’s wake was fresh and clear.
On wedding Sunday my husband, Frank, and I parked our car and walked up the path to the lawn behind Graylyn to the calling of the cello, viola and flute assemble. We were ushered into bright white chairs angled across a Caribbean green lawn. The wedding party walked along the rose petal-strewn aisle to meet at the stone gazebo at the peak of the lawn. Promises and vows were exchanged between Ann and Alex interrupted only momentarily by honking from a gaggle of geese flying over.
After the ceremony we lingered on the Magnolia Terrace for drinks and hors doeuvres. Just before dinner we gathered for champagne and toasts. Our friend, Joe, began the toasts with a brief thank you to the great forces that sent Ernesto along its way. Then, with a clear voice, he said, “From the moment she was born, I knew this day would come.” It was a tearjerker comment for me, but he pressed ahead without a falter. He followed with more thanks for her joy and happiness, for her loving relationship with her good Alex, and for the loving support of Alex’s family.
After toasts and with the sunset we moved inside to a companionable dinner and, after dinner, down the wrought iron spiral stair to the dance floor. As we arrived at the bottom of the stair we found Joe. He had a drink in each hand while on the lookout for Debbie, but looked remarkably relaxed in the twilight of his big day.
“How are you doing?” Frank and I asked.
Joe smiled, “Great. Do you know what the hardest moment has been?”
Hmm, I thought, these few snap immediately to mind: walking her down the aisle; answering the dreaded question with ‘her mother and I do’; the toast when you are confronted with the blink of time that turns your new baby daughter into a newly married woman?
“No,” I said, “What has been the hardest moment?”
“Well,” Joe replied, “We came to Graylyn for the whole weekend. Last night Debbie and I slept in a big, comfortable bed here. We didnt have any of our dogs to bother us in the night and I slept really well. Debbie was up and down a few times in the night and this morning she was up and out of the room pretty early. I was just resting in bed when Ann, in her pajamas and bare feet, came padding down the hall, opened the door to our room and hopped into bed with me. We laid around and talked about the weather. We talked about the family and the plans for the morning and then she said ‘gotta go’ and she rolled out of the bed and padded out the door.”
“That,” Joe said, “Was my hardest moment.”
Joe, Frank and I stood on the wedding reception dance floor in silence for a moment; Joe with tears in his eyes, me with my usual single big, fat tear rolling down my cheek.
“There’s a story for you,” Joe finally said.
“Yes,” I replied, “It’s a good story.”
And it is a good story. Do you know how many pajama and climbing in bed memories of your children can flash before your eyes in the telling of a good story?—-A lot of them.